Summer's Heir
by Kellen
Summary: Aizen, even after death, leaves a legacy. Post-war, future!fic, Hinamori, Hitsugaya, and Matsumoto-centric
1. Chapter 1

_**Summer's Heir**_  
_Part One  
by Kel  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Summary: Aizen, even after death, leaves a legacy.  
Note: Part one of an ongoing thing that started out being a short one-shot.Yeah. I know. I fail.  
Additional note: Please con-crit. Really, its the only reason I posted. I need it. XD_

* * *

He'd cracked, his mind shattered into shards Momo knew would be impossible to pick up and piece back together. Over the years, she'd come to see - and to even believe - how much Aizen was capable of. Shinigami, powerful shinigami, broken at his whim. Lieutenants and captains alike had, at one point or another, fallen to his illusions. Nanao had been a quivering mess for weeks after a brush in the war. Ukitake had seen things he still didn't quite believe weren't real. Hisagi - she held a real soft spot for him and still bit her lip when she thought of this - hadn't ever quite been the same. The war had changed them all. She liked to think it made her a stronger person.

But she was the only one, she thought sometimes. Seireitei was weak, her most powerful shinigami struggling to regain their pride and power. Momo didn't care so much for Seireitei as a whole; her world sometimes condensed and shrunk so much that only one person mattered.

One person, and she could never escape the thoughts of the man who'd shattered him.

Aizen had created a masterpiece when he molded Hitsugaya's mind to whatever he wanted. In his hands, the young captain hadn't stood a chance. Hitsugaya had fought, so hard. Oh, so hard, and Momo could still see it in the moments of lucidity. In those moments, she could see him struggling, see him still fighting those demons, clawing towards sanity, and it hurt her more than seeing him lose his mind. At least, when he was gone - muttering to himself, working on half a dozen different inane projects, nearly catatonic in a corner - he was in his own world, where nothing was wrong with him. He was blissfully unaware of what had made him this way. When he regained himself, it hurt her deeply to see him realize that something deep inside was twisted and wrong.

She didn't know if she could watch him struggle with his own mind again.

She visited him now, in the place Unohana had set aside, on the outskirts of Seireitei, away from the hustle and bustle of Soul Society. Rangiku had been by earlier; she came at least once a week and always made him a pot of tea while she was there. It had been a weekly ritual that Momo had dared not intrude on; she would have been welcome, she knew that, but Momo treasured her time alone with Hitsugaya. She rather thought Rangiku did, too.

She stepped into his room, closing the door quietly behind her and kneeling in front of it as she always did. She'd learned quickly that a routine was best for him; Unohana had taken note of it and quickly established a day-to-day routine that never changed. It helped settle his mind, she said. Momo hoped - oh she hoped - that she was right about that.

She'd seen how unsettled he could be. Sometimes, it was as simple as pacing. Sometimes his thoughts and ideas came faster than he could get them out and he ended up frustrated and tired. Sometimes - and these were the times Momo sat next to him, tears running down her cheeks - he simply drew in on himself, eyes wide, muttering about things that never happened, and battling demons Aizen had seen fit to bestow upon him.

Today wasn't a good day; she could see that right away. His eyes - eyes that were once bright and attentive and focused - were dull. Sunken. When she looked closer, his mouth was pressed thin, his jaw tight. She wondered if this was one of those times he was seeing things that frightened him or if perhaps this was a rare lucid moment and he'd realized - once again - that he was in a bad way. He looked at her and she nearly looked away.

His gaze was intense, tired. There had always been intelligence there; gods, Hitsugaya was a smart one. She knew better than most that his mind was quick and sharp. Even when frayed and shredded, he was still intelligent. Sometimes even sharp-witted. Even Aizen couldn't temper sarcasm with insanity, she supposed.

"Matsumoto was here," he announced.

She nodded, long ago used to the lack of a greeting from him. Sometimes he forgot. Sometimes he deemed it unnecessary. "Yes. She brought you tea." The cups were still on the table, ready to be taken away.

"It's Wednesday."

Again, Momo nodded. "She always comes on Wednesday."

He gave her a sharp look. Momo wasn't quite sure what it meant. "It's the fifty-fourth Wednesday," he said.

"Is it?" Momo said, smiling at him and inwardly cringing. Fifty-four weeks of Matsumoto visiting. Fifty-four. "She's reliable that way."

He snorted. "Never does her paperwork."

This time Momo laughed - forced, heavy, and short. She got to her feet and gathered the cups up, moving them toward the door. She'd taken them with her when she left. "She seems to be doing all right now," she told him, gesturing toward the low table. "Why don't you sit with me?"

He did, lowering himself to kneel next to her, gaze distant. She had resigned herself to another visit passed mostly in silence when he abruptly spoke again.

"That's because I'm not there to help."

Momo's jaw dropped before she could stop herself. That melancholy tone... That wasn't Hitsugaya. Hitsugaya never sounded sad. Angry, worried, even mild and amused but never, never sad. "Hitsugaya-kun?"

He was watching the door and Momo knew that he wasn't seeing the door, but was trying to see beyond it, toward a world that continued without him while he struggled to catch up. "I'm not there," he said quietly.

So this was a semi-lucid day. Unohana said they were a good sign, that all hope was not gone, but Momo almost rathered he spend his days in ignorance. Lucid days meant pain for him. Anger and hopelessness. She bit her lip and looked down. How to answer that...?

"I heard voices."

Momo cringed. Oh, perhaps it wasn't a lucid day. "Voices?"

"Just one," he answered, fingers drawing a pattern on the table. "In my dreams. When I'm awake. All the time."

"What does it say?" Might as well make small talk, since he wanted to talk. She wouldn't deny him that.

His fingers stopped their erratic dance across the table top. For a moment he was absolutely still. "'Remember me'," he said quietly. "'Remember my name.'"

Oh, gods. Momo felt something in her heart give; Aizen had done a fine job when he incapacitated Hitsugaya. The young captain had been on of his biggest threats and Aizen pulled no punches. He'd researched and experimented and finally, when he had his chance with Hitsugaya, had taken away from him something that Momo only had nightmares about: he'd silenced Hitsugaya's zanpakutou. Unohana had speculated that the connection wasn't completely severed, but she never held much hope that it would ever be the same. A shinigami's zanpakutou was as much a part of them as anything else; when Aizen had silenced Hyourinmaru, it was like wiping clean a part of Hitsugaya's mind.

If this was Hyourinmaru... Momo didn't want to believe it. She couldn't hope. Not after fifty-four weeks. "Do you know who it is?" She asked him anyway. She had to know. She... she had to hope.

"It's loud and demanding," Hitsugaya said, his tone wry and tired. "Like the red-head."

Momo smiled; like Renji, huh? "And it only ever says that?"

Hitsugaya shrugged one shoulder, leaning over the table and dragging his fingers back and forth over the wood. "Remember, remember, remember. All the time." He curled his fingers into a loose fist and tapped the table. "Make it click, Toushirou. Come on, boy, you know the name. It's right there. There, there, there. He insists its there, says I know it. Walk onto the ice. It's cold out there. People die in the ice. Why would I go out there? Stupid dragon."

Momo's breath hitched and she took Hitsugaya's hand in hers; through his rambling, his tapping had gotten faster and faster. She straightened his fingers, running her own over his knuckles until his hands only trembled lightly.

"I woke up cold," Hitsugaya said, gazing into the distance, once again looking beyond the door.

"Did you?" she asked lightly. This didn't mean anything. Just ramblings of a crazy man, that's all it was. This couldn't mean anything. "I can get you some more blankets."

"I woke up cold," he repeated, "and the damn thing was still there." He paused and she smiled lightly at the absolutely disdainful look on his face. "It won't go away."

"Won't it?" Oh, gods, she didn't want to hope...

"No... but I remembered its name. If it wants to talk at least I can call it by name."

Her voice was very small when she spoke. "What's its name?"

"Hyourinmaru." His voice was flat, eyes down cast. His hand had stopped trembling.

She choked, tears stinging her eyes. "What does it say?"

He looked up, eyes weary and Momo bit her lip against the spark of _something_ that she hadn't seen in a long time. "I'll come back."

Lucidity stung. Momo nodded, grasping his hand in both of hers. "I'll be here."

"I woke up cold, Momo." He sounded so confused.

Momo nodded, her thumbs rubbing his wrist. "Was it a bad thing?"

He hesitated, thought for a moment. "No."

Momo couldn't hold back the tears this time. She wiped furiously at her cheeks, morbidly glad that his gaze had turned vacant again. Whether she cried for the hope of his recovery or the knowledge that this hurt him, cut him deeply, to realize he'd never be the same, she didn't know. She couldn't begin to say why she cried; maybe it was both.

The rest of their evening was spent in relative silence: he would only speak if spoken to, and then, only half the time. She filled the silences with idle chatter, Soul Society's gossip, anything she could think of. It was forced, though, and quiet. Awkward.

She left that evening with a heavy heart, hope of that earlier moment replaced with a despair and a certainty that it was a fluke. Nothing more than that.

Momo didn't sleep well that night, or for several nights afterward. She missed her Saturday visit. For hours - days, perhaps - before their regular lunch, she agonized over it. In the end, though, selfishness prevailed, and she knew that's all it was. She was selfish and wouldn't take the pain of seeing him again. Not so soon after actually hoping for him.

Isane-fukutaichou had sent her a message and Momo had replied, deflecting the subtle reproach with a brusque comment about being busy and then disappearing from the Fourth Division's radar. Updates on Hitsugaya's condition - the three or four a week she'd always asked for - piled up on her desk and she pushed them aside, refusing to deal with them.

She'd hoped Aizen-taichou would come back.

She'd hoped everything would be fine.

She'd hoped Hitsugaya-kun would recover.

It had gotten her so far, this hope. It wasn't worth considering.

It wasn't until the following Wednesday evening - after she'd missed another dinner - that she had a visitor in her office. Momo looked up, brush falling from slack fingers, just before the sheer force that was Matsumoto Rangiku burst through her doors, all anger and indignation.

Rangiku stalked to her desk, Momo watching with wide eyes, and slammed her hands on it, rattling the ink jar at Momo's elbow. "He won't talk to me," Rangiku announced and Momo flinched at her accusing tone.

Carefully picking up her brush, Momo tried to ignore the other woman.

"Isane told me you skipped your last two appointments."

"I didn't skip them," Momo answered.

"Goddamn it!" Rangiku lunged for the paperwork Momo was staring at and pulled it away. "Momo, you _know_ damn well what upsetting his routine does to him."

Momo reached for the papers, scowling. "And some work is more important than a routine." It was a flimsy excuse and she knew it.

Rangiku straightened, anger falling away to be replaced by a sadness that Momo knew all too well. She looked away. "More important than him?" Rangiku asked softly, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "Don't try to sell me that. You were one of the ones that demanded we not give up on him, from early on."

Momo hesitated; she knew that. Knew it better than Rangiku did. That was back when she'd actually hoped things would work out.

But the world was far crueler than she'd ever imagined. "I've been wrong before," she said.

Rangiku paled and Momo found it hard to even continue to look at her. "What the hell happened to you, Momo?"

That answer was, at least, easy. "Aizen happened," she snapped.

"Aizen happened to us all," Rangiku returned in kind. "Don't think you're special." She turned on her heel and Momo could feel the anger rolling off her in waves.

Anger and grief and it was the grief that had Momo staring at the floor, unsure of what she could do or say next. Maybe nothing. Nothing could be done about all this, could it?

Rangiku paused at the door. She didn't look back as she spoke. "He said one thing to me. One thing." She paused. "He asked where you were."

Momo looked up, but didn't say anything when Rangiku left. He... he asked after her?

He asked - and she was silent. A no-show. Momo swallowed hard before hurrying out the door. She could see Rangiku moving quickly down the hallway and Momo called out almost without thinking.

"He talked about Hyourinmaru."

Rangiku took two steps before she abruptly turned. "Momo... what?"

"Last week," Momo said, "when I was there." She was speaking quickly now, eyes closing. Maybe if her eyes were closed, it wasn't real? Did she want it to be real? "He said he woke up cold, that it insisted he call it by name, that he knew the name now, that... that he'd be back."

There was silence and Momo chanced opening her eyes, but one look at Rangiku's face was enough to have her shutting them tightly again. That hopeful look, overlaid atop anger, was too much for Momo to try to deal with. It was enough that she was actually speaking about it.

"He said all that?" Rangiku finally said, her voice small.

Momo only nodded.

Rangiku hesitated for only a moment before she swept back up the hallway and herded Momo into her office. "Tell me about it," she demanded and shut the door behind her.

Momo did, careful to keep any hint of emotion from her voice. Judging from Rangiku's expression, though, she wasn't successful. Momo looked away, not risking looking at the peculiar mix if hope and grief that raced across the woman's features.

Rangiku turned slowly, hugging herself tightly. "I have work to do, Momo," she said softly as she opened the door. She glanced back, her features hardening. "I don't want to hear you've missed any more dinners."

"You won't," Momo said softly as she left. "You won't."

The door closed and Momo simply stood there. Paperwork could wait. Hitsugaya-kun didn't need to. She took two steps forward before she stopped abruptly, turned and marched back to the desk.

She would go back for her Saturday visit.

Hitsugaya-kun needed routine, after all.

_...to be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Summer's Heir **  
Part Two  
by Kel  
Rating: PG-13/T Summary: Aizen, even after death, leaves a legacy.  
Note: Part one of an ongoing thing that started out being a short one-shot.Yeah. I know. I fail._

* * *

The first time she'd met Hitsugaya Toushirou, she had pegged him as one of those kids who never stood up for themselves. Rangiku had labeled him a doormat right off the bat and she was almost surprised to find that she hadn't been far off the mark.

Her captain - and she still thought of him as her captain; it would never be any other way - was nowhere near a doormat, but he rarely stood up for himself. All the times he'd fought, he'd fought for someone else. Hell, he'd even gone to the academy to save his grandmother's life. Had worked hard to catch up to Momo - and incidentally passed her - and had done everything afterwards simply because it benefitted someone else.

Crazy kid. Goddamned crazy kid. Rangiku shook her head, turning another sheet of paper over and putting it aside. One report finished and only about a thousand more to go.

And that was just today's work.

Hitsugaya-taichou should be doing this work, she mused and her brush stilled over the inkwell. Of course he should, but it was beyond him wasn't it? She never once imagined that that scrawny kid she met way back when would ever make it as a captain. As a shinigami, sure. That blast of untamed, raw reiatsu when he'd demanded - half-panicked, she always suspected - that he put him down had assured her that this kid belonged in the academy. He'd been easy to follow, had been easy as hell to track down even while he slept. She'd never forget the chill in the air that night.

He had been such a scared kid, in her eyes. A kid trying to make it in a world that frightened him and was frightened of him. He would have been content staying with his grandmother, keeping that house, but he'd confided in her long ago, on a lonely night during the war, that his dreams during that time had been plagued by ice. She'd smirked, said she'd known, and teased him over his choice of words. (She was "plagued by ice" too, she'd said.)

Rangiku missed those days, despite the horrors of war. He'd been, if not happy, then as content as one could be during war. Momo had awoken and began a long road toward recovery. For a time, he'd been afraid that she'd turn him away and had barely gone to see her. Rangiku had put a stop to that. She couldn't stand to see those kids avoiding each other like that, not after all she'd seen her captain go through just to keep Momo safe. (He always thought he'd failed; Rangiku always thought he'd done admirably. It was something they'd never see eye to eye on.)

She smiled softly as she finished up skimming through another report. Damned kid nearly had to be locked in a room with Momo before he'd spend any time with her. She'd cajoled, promised, and finally threatened before he'd gone to actually talk with Momo. Who knew that threatening to tell all of Seireitei about the scrawny kid she'd meant at a marketplace would actually work? Seemed he had cared about his reputation and had balked at anyone in Seireitei thinking of him as a scared kid. (He'd never been scared, he'd insisted.)

Never mind he was showing all who cared to see that scared kid. Everytime she looked into his wide blue eyes now, she saw that half-panicked, half-angry stare.

_Put me down._

It still echoed in her head.

"Sorry, taichou," she muttered, dropping her brush into the inkwell and sitting back. "Not about to just drop you now, you little ingrate."

Because, as much as he'd done for her, there was no way in hell she was going to walk away now. He was still her captain, after all. Wide-eyed and scared or focused and fighting, he was her captain.

He just had to learn to fight for himself this time and that would be one hell of an uphill battle.

Rangiku pushed back from the desk; it was time for a break and that meant a drink. More than one, if this train of thought didn't jump its tracks. Perhaps Renji would be around, if Kuchiki-taichou didn't have him jumping through hoops. Maybe Izuru, but... hell, Rangiku didn't need any prodding to remember what had happened and Izuru's face was trigger if there ever was one.

Fifty-four weeks ago, she'd stopped drinking alone. And she wouldn't pour a drink in silence until the day she knew she'd be able to stop before morning came.

She'd stop because her captain would make her. Would come stalking through her door, livid at his vice captain, shouting orders and she'd whine about her hangover.

No sleeping in the office until he would be the one to wake her. No slacking on paperwork until he'd be the one to berate her.

Rangiku sighed softly and sat back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Goddamn you, Taichou." She stood, pressing her fingers against her eyes and stalwartly ignoring the burning there. She sighed again and straightened her shoulders, adjusting her scarf and nodding once. She was in control; she had to be. She had a division to think of and to look like she was in charge of. "I hope you're proud of yourself," she muttered. "You finally made me do my work.

* * *

He clapped his hands over his ears and somewhere, distantly, he knew it did no good.

_...fight, Hitsugaya-taichou?_

The sounds were inside him. The voice were jeering at him from deep within his mind. Putting his hands over his ears simply trapped them there.

_Do you fight demons?_

He shut his eyes, but knew he faced the same problem. That smile was behind his eyes, imprinted into his mind, punctuated by warm brown eyes and soft malignant chuckles.

_What demons do you fight, Hitsugaya-taichou?_ That smiling voice still rang inside his mind, reaching into corners long thought desolate and unreachable. There was a shudder, a blast of cold air, and Hitsugaya curled in on himself.

None, he'd said. He fought no demons, only fought Espada and arrancar and rogue shinigami. No demons.

How wrong he'd been. His demons were real, very real, clawing and scratching and screaming, inside and outside his body and they were real, more real than anything he'd ever faced.

_What demons do you fight?_

There was that one there, bleeding in a corner, wearing Hinamori's face.

There was another, clawing at his eyes, with long strawberry-blonde hair.

Another, a kindly old face, jeering at him. Still another, and another, and another, one after another and all at once and every one of them tore at him.

_What demons...?_

None. None, none, none, and he needed to put them all back where they came from, shove them all back into their neat boxes where the icy wind didn't anger them and didn't goad them into attacking. He moved quickly, hands shaking as he shuffled the papers and restacked them, unfolded and refolding the futon, paced the room, counting steps aloud.

Three steps. They were still there.

Seven and they howled, angry at being ignored.

Eighteen. An icy blast of wind howled, and they answered in kind.

_Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one..._ Hands on his head, pressing at his temples, gritting his teeth, and he had to work through it, keep his count, keep moving and keep them from throwing him off. Breathing hard, still counting and still stepping forward on each beat and it hurt, hurt, hurt but he was still walking. Still counting. Still shoving them back into their cages.

Don't think about them and they won't howl. No winds would stir them up. No... no nothing.

Just like it should be.

He fought no demons. He refused. They had won every round. There was another roar inside his mind, deep and echoing along an icy plain. He shuddered and swallowed. No. No, no, no. That one was the worst of all, forcing everything else out into the open, angering what was already there, shattering carefully held illusions of power over his mind.

"Forty-three." His step faltered. "Get out. Forty-four."

Ice crept along a great, endless plain, destroying all in its path and bringing with it an invigorating cold. Hitsugaya wanted none of it. It brought death, destruction, demons. Nothing he wanted.

"Fifty-one."

The roar was louder this time, deafening in its desperation and almost - almost - tinged with sorrow. He could feel the cold and he shuddered. Everything he didn't want - couldn't bear to think about - came with it.

"Seventy-two. Seventy-three." Step, step, hand trailing the wall beside him. "Seventy-four. Seventy-five."

Step by step, he walked away, trying to outrun the ice that crept behind him.

And, with every step, he knew he was falling behind. It only brought death. Cold, unwelcome death, carried to him in the jaws of a great dragon. Demons, engulfed in ice, and howling and laughing and jeering and hurting, flanked the dragon.

And he'd die on that plain of ice, torn apart from the inside by demons he didn't fight.

Because Hitsugaya-taichou fought no demons.

"Eighty-seven. Eighty-eight." Each step he took away from the icy plain calmed his mind. Each step away from the monster that demanded his death was a minor victory. Each step and he sunk further away, eyes glazing and mind shutting down until he paced.

Paced and counted. Counted and paced.

_Die with me._ The dragon's voice was nothing now, a small whisper, a chill breeze, a roar in the distance.

"One hundred."

He fought no demons, because there were none here.

And, somewhere on a forgotten plain of ice, a dragon keened, mourning something it didn't quite remember and dying a slow death it didn't quite fear.

_...to be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Summer's Heir**_  
_Part Three  
by Kel  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Summary: Aizen, even after death, leaves a legacy.  
Note: Part one of an ongoing thing that started out being a short . I know. I fail.  
Additional note: Please con-crit. Really, its the only reason I posted. I need it. XD

* * *

  
_

Momo had put the Saturday visit out of her mind, determined not to think of it. She'd walk in with hopes and expectations otherwise and she knew better than most that expecting a damned thing or going into a visit with plans about how things should work would only result in frustration, and maybe even heartache. She'd had as much of that as she could stand and would do anything in her power to spare herself the frustration. It gave him fits, too; Hitsugaya had always chafed at her telling him what to do. He was no different now.

Funny how some things never changed. He deserved nothing less than for her to show up tomorrow at her normal time, her normal self, and with no unreal expectations. None at all. She would do that for him.

She was having lunch with Renji, both sitting comfortably on the porch overlooking the Fifth's expansive courtyard. The summer was turning to fall, but the air was still pleasant and the sun still warm. Momo pushed her bangs away from her face and poured Renji a small saucer of sake; she knew good and well sake was well-deserved, for the both of them. "You know," she told him, "I have no objection." She wasn't the same girl who'd only ever called Aizen her captain. She'd changed and grown since then. Momo could look to the future and just be glad her friend was moving up and would be working with her closely.

Renji just nodded when he took the saucer. "I didn't think they'd really start on captainships until later on."

"It's been a year since the war ended. We need to move on sometime, I guess." Momo shrugged, ignoring that small pang of worry deep inside. She... didn't want to move on, not right now, and she could think of one division who's captain was in a sort of horrid limbo. "We can't have captainless divisions, and you have bankai and experience. You'll like it in the Fifth, I think."

Renji downed the sake and gave her a wide smile. "Couldn't ask for a better lieutenant."

At that, Momo did laugh lightly. "Yes. Yes, you could." She pressed her lips together and looked out over the courtyard; the sun was glinting off the water, catching her eye and making her smile a bit. It was pretty, that bright sunlight and the clear water. "That leaves the Third, since Madarame-san has been approached for the Ninth."

There was a pause and Momo knew what Renji would say before he did. "And the Tenth."

"That's different," was Momo's automatic response, "and you couldn't get Matsumoto-fukutaichou to agree to anything if someone else was captain."

Renji threw her words back into her face, eyes downcast. "We can't have captainless divisions."

The sunlight dimmed on the water for a moment as a small wave lapped at the edge of the pool. Momo swallowed hard and then gave Renji a determined look. "It's _different,_" she insisted. "When a captain is injured, they aren't replaced."

Renji put up a hand. "Don't snap at me over it. I'm just relaying information."

Her eyes narrowed. "I haven't heard any of this." Worried about it, of course, but had never heard a thing.

"Rangiku got a message from the old man. He's running out of patience and is, at most, a couple months away from revoking Hitsugaya-taichou's title."

Momo wasn't sure how to react to that; her mouth worked, no sound coming out, and anger and hurt and _grief_ started bubbling up, closing her throat. "Abarai-kun..." Her voice was small, almost just a whisper of forced sound.

"He said it'd be a special sort of thing; no longer acting captain or whatever. But not shinigami anymore either."

Momo's voice hardened. Hitsugaya was shinigami, was a captain. He'd worked too hard for it to be stripped away, thanks to something Aizen did over a year ago. "No." She wouldn't let them do that to him. He'd done so much to protect her; the least she could do was somehow get them to let him keep his title.

It meant too much to him.

"Didn't say I agreed," Renji huffed. He held out his saucer. "I'll tell you more if you pour a little more."

Momo bit her lip and then shakily poured more sake into Renji's saucer. "How much more do you have to tell?"

"You'll have to ask Rangiku about specifics. She was pretty upset so I didn't get many details." Renji shrugged. "Or, well, details that didn't come after a few cups of sake." He stared into his sake. "The old man told her that if things didn't start looking better soon, he'd start looking into replacing the Tenth's captain. And if she wanted to train for bankai, he'd find someone to help teach her."

At least that was almost good of Yamamoto-soutaichou. "She'll stay in charge that way."

Renji nodded. "Could even abdicate her leadership if he comes back."

"He'll come back." Momo's answer was quick but even she wasn't sure if she believed it anymore. She had to have faith in him; it wouldn't be the first time she put her faith on shaky ground. She sat back, hands on her knees and concentrated on not curling her hands into fists. "What did he mean, things need to start looking better soon?"

Renji shrugged. "Best I can tell is Hitsugaya-taichou needs to improve. I dunno what the old man's thinking. Can't even be sure I'm saying what he really said; Rangiku was drinking." He downed his sake and sighed. "I know it's hard on you. I can't even imagine..." He trailed off and shrugged again. "Look, I'll do what I can to help, all right? I'll be your captain within a few weeks and then... I can pull strings for you. Might even be able to now."

Momo nodded slowly, fingers tapping her knee. "Maybe... if you can speak to Kurosaki-kun..." She trailed off. She wasn't even quite sure what she was asking. "If Yamamoto-soutaichou is approached to keep the Tenth's captaincy open, maybe..." She looked up at Renji, eyes a bit wide. "Rangiku-san can lean on Kyouraku-taichou and maybe if Kurosaki-kun makes a fuss, we can give him a little more time."

Renji sighed. "I'll do that. But, Hinamori," he paused and looked like he didn't even want to speak again, "is it a lost cause? Is giving him a little more time going to help at all?"

Momo's hands did curl into the fabric at her knees and she meant Renji's gaze with a hard look of her own. "He remembered Hyourinmaru. I'll give him whatever chance he needs."

"All right, then," Renji said. "Then that's what we'll do."

"Better be. Otherwise, you could definitely start asking for a better lieutenant."

Renji laughed, long and loud. "I'd hate to upset my lieutenant before I'm even captain."

When Momo smiled, it was more genuine than it had been in a long time. "You'll be a good captain," she told him. "You're acting smart already." She leaned a bit closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Acting smart is half of it, you know. Even if you don't know what you're doing, just act like it and people will follow you anyway."

He nodded, lips curling into a smile, but before he could speak, a wave of reiatsu - angry, upset, and full of worry - washed over them. Renji straightened and Momo sat up, turning to look at the door that was opening behind them. Renji was on his feet mere moments before Momo was. "Rangiku!"

"What's going on?" Momo couldn't help interrupting, but if Matsumoto was upset and came to seek them out, it could only mean a few things, and Momo would rather not dwell on the majority of those things. All bad; they were all bad.

Matsumoto stopped, leaning heavily on the door and nearly panting for breath. "Did you take Hitsugaya-taichou out?" Her brows were furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line.

Momo took a step forward, shaking her head slowly. "I wasn't going to see him until tomorrow, like normal." She should have gone earlier. She should have thought about, should have marched over there and demanded he speak to her, like she'd wanted to do so many times in the last few days. Oh, gods, what was Matsumoto telling them? "What's happening?" Her voice was small and choked with sudden fear.

"Unohana-taichou sent me a butterfly," Matsumoto said, her voice strained. "He's not in his room. They can't find him."

* * *

_...to be continued ((and thank you for being patient~!))  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Summer's Heir**  
Part Four  
by Kel  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Summary: Aizen, even after death, leaves a legacy.  
Note: Part one of an ongoing thing that started out being a short one-shot. Yeah. I know. I fail.  
Additional note: Please con-crit. Really, its the only reason I posted. I need it. XD_

* * *

It was cold.

It was mid-day and it was freezing. The sun was streaming in through the window and yet he found no warmth in it. He'd tried standing there, in the midst of the light, hoping it would wash away this lingering sense of wrongness he'd felt since he'd woke that morning. The night before, he'd dreamed again.

He'd been dreaming every night. Every time he slept and every time he closed his eyes, he saw the shadows moving. He wasn't sure why or what or even _how_ they moved, but they did, claws scratching and flexing and voiceless whispers drowning out whatever else he might hear. He didn't know what else was there, not anymore, and didn't know what he should be listening for. (But that wasn't true and a part of him knew that, a desperate part of him that railed against this confinement; railed against it all, wanted to fight but didn't know how, not anymore and why was he even listening to the damned darkness and not even trying.)

Chaos. All of it was chaos. Undulating darkness, shadows of specters that never existed, sounds he couldn't, and wouldn't try, to place; they were all there, all fighting for dominance in his fragmented mind. And underneath it all was a current rife with desperation and despair. Grief dominated that part of him; grief spurred on by a despair he didn't understand, but it was a part of him, just like the darkness, and held sway over him.

He stood in that shaft of sunlight, arms wrapped around himself and breath misting. The cold pricked at his skin, permeating every part of him. Shouldn't light be warm? Comforting? There was no _comfort_ in this room. Shadows gathered in the corners, billowing outward, rolling along the floor.

He even dreamed while he was awake. Maybe he wasn't awake. Maybe he'd never woken up.

The room was gone. Instead he stood in a place where cold reigned and darkness thrived. He couldn't see through the heavy darkness, but he couldn't deny that it moved all around him. Sound he couldn't describe – and never would try – pressed in around him. Wave after wave of oppressive pressure rushed him, stealing air from his lungs. He remembered once, very young, meeting his first powerful Hollow and the sheer force of it's horrible intentions had choked him. He'd never felt that before; had plenty of times afterward. The memory had never been more clear. Maybe it was the fear. Maybe it was simply because, like then, he had no idea what to do next.

It choked him; fear or darkness or something else, he didn't know, but breath was gone and his throat was tight.

Dreaming again. He had to be dreaming again. The cold spread it's fingers through the darkness, somehow a separate entity, warring with the darkness.

Hitsugaya wanted none of it. It was his mind, his domain, and _his mind_, damn it all. All he wanted was peace.

_Call on me_.

He ducked his head, hands covering his ears. Peace. That's all he asked for. All he wanted.

_Call on me and find it._

The cold encircled him and suddenly he could breathe, panting shallowly for breath. There was no light. No where here. He'd been standing in unforgiving sunlight, hadn't he? Standing there and trying to get away. Not dreaming. Not this time.

_You're here for a reason._

"Get out." There was no command in his voice, no volume. Only a hoarse whisper. He didn't want this despair. He didn't want to fight. He didn't _want_ any of these things in his mind.

_Fight for what you want._

He grit his teeth, almost wishing for the noise of the shadows to drown out the voice in the cold.

_You used to know that. You used to do that._

He wouldn't. He would not fight. Let them have him and wish simply for peace. When he fought, his world crumbled. People around him suffered. _He_ suffered.

_Come on, boy!_

The voice roared this time, resonating in his mind, shaking the very foundation he stood on. Screams echoed, the things in the darkness – maybe the darkness itself – recoiling and crying out against it. The noise thundered around him, roiling through the black, buffeting him from all sides. The cold receded, succumbing to the darkness and disappearing within it.

_Why? Why won't you?_ It was quieter this time, desperate, and suddenly Hitsugaya knew where the despair came from. That bottomless current of grief and despair came from the cold. The voice held all that grief.

"I can't."

The voice didn't answer him this time and the cold faded away. The pressure came back, closing his throat. In sudden panic, Hitsugaya blindly reached forward. The cold... The cold wasn't peace; he wanted nothing to do with that despair.

But the darkness terrified him. Choked him. Took away everything.

He wasn't that far gone.

He scrabbled for the cold, trying to push past the darkness. The cold embodied the grief and he hated the grief, but it had to be better than the fear. It was demanding, heavy, but at least it spoke to him. The darkness merely overwhelmed him. He didn't know how he did it, but he found the icy thread and _pulled_ it back.

He'd come into the sunlight looking for comfort. He hadn't found it, but perhaps the cold could bring him something marginally better than fear. It swirled around him, tangling with the darkness and pushing it away.

Room to breathe.

It was all he needed.

Brightness invaded his vision for a moment and, then, suddenly the sunlight was back. He looked up, swallowing hard and arms wrapped around himself.

The light was still cold.

_You never complained about the cold before._

He drew in a deep breath, panting hard. Grief, despair, fear, panic all welled up within him, with no explanation, no way for him to compartmentalize it, and no way for him to deal with all of it at once. In the midst of it all, there was a small glimmer of light, wavering. Maybe it was the desperation threading through it all, or maybe it was the determination of whatever part of him refused to fall into despair and fear that kept that light from withering away completely.

Whatever it was, it was too much. Far too much and Hitsugaya found himself moving before he knew why.

He didn't fight. He couldn't.

He just wanted peace. No fighting within his own mind. No grabbing onto grief to drive out fear.

No more.

This room didn't hold what he needed. He didn't know where to go but this room held nothing but those things he needed to get away from. He left the room, the door sliding too loudly along it's tracks, and staggered down the hall. It seemed the faster he wanted to move, the slower and heavier his limbs became.

"Hitsugaya-taichou." He barely heard the words and he started when a hand settled on his shoulder. Panic welling up in him, he turned away, grasping for the cold again. Bright light flared in his vision for a moment and a strangled cry accompanied it. He swallowed hard, backing away and darting down the hallway again.

Out. He just needed out.

* * *

The reiatsu had been raw and untamed. It had pulsed, dimming uncertainly and wavering before burning brightly. A wave of icy presence had washed over Unohana and she had closed her eyes, nearly reveling in the familiarity of it. How often had she felt this, on the battlefield, or when she knew the Tenth's captain was training? It hadn't been often, but it was enough that it was familiar. The last time she'd felt that presence was in the mere moments before he disappeared, accompanied by a harsh battle cry.

She'd made a mistake, perhaps. She did not regret letting him fight it alone, or telling Isane to let him be; he needed that. Unohana fully trusted Isane, but her kind heart had gotten the better of her. One false move and Hitsugaya's already fragile mind had registered a threat. Hitsugaya disappeared in the few moments after the very unexpected kidou. Unohana sent the butterfly to Matsumoto-fukutaichou, it's message quick and perhaps unclear; she hadn't taken the time to tell her all that had happened. She cradled Isane's head carefully, fingers probing the gash along her temple.

Her lips quirked, almost sadly. Isane, when she awoke, would be more pleased that Hitsugaya had called upon kidou to protect himself than upset she'd been hurt.

She held up her hand when she felt the butterfly fluttering nearby; Matsumoto-fukutaichou had sent a message. Quickly, she sent one back, promising help, then called another. Hanatarou would be good for this one; he enjoyed going out into the field and had proven himself competent more than once. She sent the butterfly for him, carrying his orders, and turned her attention back toward Isane.

She would have a place ready for Hitsugaya when he came back. Perhaps this could be a stepping stone to better things. After a moment's thought, she sent another message, this one to Hinamori-fukutaichou. It might reassure her to know about the kidou; any search party would need to know anyway.

* * *

_  
It was sand this time, not ice. He stood on a desolate desert plain, captain's haori whipping in the harsh wind. Sand burned his lungs and stung his skin. His hands were already scraped raw, his jaw bruised. Dried blood was crusted on his forehead, caked in his eyebrow._

_It was nothing new, not to him. War did this. He fought, he was bruised. He bled. He did it all over again._

_He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd been fighting with his Division. Provide cover for the Fourth to do their work; those had been his orders. He and Matsumoto had taken it seriously, even if it seemed like a mundane thing. Hell, he'd been relieved to take on a stupid mundane little guard duty, just for a little break from the reconnaissance and scouting._

_Then the Espada had shown up and then Ichimaru. He remembered Matsumoto freezing and remembered moving quickly and... then it was all different. A flash of a smile, an instant of sharp pain, and nothing was the same._

_And his familiar ice was replaced with the sand of Las Noches._

_They approached him from all sides and he stood as strong as he was able. And he stood on a plain of sand, slowly withering away and succumbing to the darkness.  
_

* * *

He kept moving, avoiding any and all people. Sometimes they came near, but he simply changed direction, seeking more and more desolate places. He couldn't deal with them as well as find a way to purge the emotions rolling and heaving within him.

_I can bring you what you need._

Hitsugaya stumbled, a hand pressing against the side of his head. No. No, no. No. He believed nothing. Nothing had been right since he'd been pulled away. Nothing would be right. His own mind lied to him. Fighting was not the answer; he'd tried that before.

Look where it got him.

And the demons in the darkness still fought with the cold.

* * *

And... tbc. Thanks to all who have reviewed thus far.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Summer's Heir  
_**_Part 5  
__by Kel__  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Summary: Aizen, even after death, leaves a legacy._

_Note: Do critique, if wanted. One chapter left and an epilogue are still planned. My apologies for the wait, and thank you for still sticking with me.

* * *

_

Rangiku set the pace as they left Seireitei for Rukongai. No one really believed Hitsugaya would go far, but Momo was absolutely convinced he would head for familiar haunts in Rukongai. It was early evening now, the sun starting to sink toward the horizon; Momo wasn't sure if the gnawing ache in her belly was hunger or worry. They had checked at Granny's old house, in the almost vain hope he'd just be there waiting for him.

He hadn't been. Momo had stood in the yard, head bowed and lips pressed together. She hoped -- had hoped so very much -- that he'd be there. That something in him would have drawn him to his childhood home. She should have known better; he'd done so much to simply forget what was in the past that she couldn't expect him to cling to it when he most needed to. Rangiku had urged her forward and they'd gone further into Rukongai, deftly searching out any thread of familiar reiatsu. Rangiku fell further into silence and Momo became a tangled mess of nerves.

What if he wasn't at the next place? They'd tried the lake out in the Sixth District. They went to the meadow in the Eighth and along the path through the forested areas in the Ninth. He couldn't have gone much further, could he? Maybe he had stayed in Seireitei, tamping down on his reiatsu and hiding.

But he didn't have that sort of control, not anymore. No one could find him there, so Momo and Rangiku had done the next best thing and organized search parties, then went out. Perhaps today would be the day he'd cling to some part of his past and seek out a familiar place.

Momo was beginning to think they were wrong. So, so very wrong.

When Rangiku spoke, it was sudden. Almost too loud in the forest they walked through. They'd been silent for so long, probing the area, trying to seek out frayed threads of icy, confused reiatsu. "Are you worried?"

All in all, it was a stupid question, and one glance at Rangiku confirmed that she knew it too. Momo stopped in her tracks, her head cocked to the side, and graced Rangiku with a probing look. She wasn't stupid; there was far more to that question than those three simple words. "Of course," she answered. Why wouldn't she be?

Rangiku took a few steps back toward Momo, arms crossed underneath her breasts. "Unohana-taichou said he used kidou. He hurt Isane."

Momo nodded once; so that had been the hellmoth of a few minutes ago. "I doubt he really meant to." Hitsugaya would never -- inever/i -- hurt a comrade or a friend. Even in this state, he had to know friend from foe. He never showed any sign of violent behavior; Unohana-taichou had told her over and over again that that was a good sign. It meant he still recognized them as friends. (Momo had the niggling doubt in the back of her mind that it only meant he was tired of fighting for anything.)

Rangiku waved a hand. "I know that." She paused and Momo saw her worrying her lower lip. "Look. If he's panicked enough to hurt Isane, we have to be worried."

There was silence for a moment. "About him? Or about us?"

Rangiku looked at her sharply. "He's not quite himself, Momo."

For a moment, Momo simply looked at her, face blank. Then her chin jutted forward and gave Rangiku the hardest look she could manage. It had nothing on some of the glares Hitsugaya could manage, back before things had turned upside-down, but it was enough to have Rangiku looking to the side and swallowing once. "He is Hitsugaya-kun," Momo said, "and that's who he's always going to be. Aizen didn't break me and he won't break him." She strode forward, as confidently as she could even while tears started welling in her eyes.

As she passed Rangiku, the blonde woman laid a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't say give up on him."

Momo sighed and reached up to wipe at her eyes. She wouldn't cry now. iNot now/i. "Just watch our backs. I got it."

Rangiku suddenly moved quickly, shaking her head and crossing her arms again. "Speak for yourself." Her voice, as cheerful and teasing as she tried to make it, shook just enough to be perceptible. "I'll be fine."

Momo turned away, reiatsu probing through the trees, and stared through the tears that threatened to drop onto her cheeks. "Sure you will." Her voice was thick; she was losing control. She wiped at her eyes, cursing at herself under her breath. She didn't have time for this. Hitsugaya didn't have time for this.

"Momo?" Rangiku stepped up behind her, voice full of concern.

She didn't want concern. Not for her. Momo took a deep breath and hugged herself; control. She needed control. She was stronger than this. Hadn't she fought in a war? Fought against the captain she adored? Had everything broken down only to have to rebuild it, mostly on her own? Hitsugaya-kun had helped her as much as he could, before he disappeared. It was time to return the favor. She took another breath. "If he's panicked enough to just lash out," she said, "then we owe it to him to find him quickly."

A hand rest on her shoulder; Momo looked up to see Rangiku swallowing hard, her gaze soft and her brows drawn together. "You think I'd suggest anything different?" She squeezed Momo's shoulder. "I hate to say it." Her hand dropped to her hip and she sighed. "But I don't think we're going to find anything here. I haven't sensed a thing and if he's as panicked as Unohana-taichou said, his reiatsu should be all over the place."

Momo sighed. "I know a couple other places. We can check them and…" She shrugged. "I guess fall into a general search pattern after that."

"We'll have to check in sometime." Rangiku gestured toward Seireitei. "Maybe they're having better luck than we are."

Momo shrugged. She hoped so, but at the same time, she hoped she was the first to find him. She owed him that, at the very least. "Come on," she said. "There's a place near here we should check."

* * *

He knew this place.

Somewhere, deep inside his mind where he was still him, he knew this place and knew why he'd come here. He heard a dragon roar, far-off and distant. Whether real or memory, he couldn't say. Didn't want to figure it out. Prior experience had taught him that remembering much of anything only left his floundering among shadows -- and shadows brought with them nothing but grief.

He heard the dragon roar again. A blast of icy air chilled him.

_Sand choked him and Hollows' roars drowned out the dragon. He tried; he tried so hard to simply keep going forward. To fight. To survive. He had to go home. Had to go back to Hinamori and Matsumoto. He had things to do and people to take care of but no matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, there was always another enemy. Always sand in his eyes. Always something. Blood -- his enemies' and his own -- mixed with the sand and ice._

Hitsugaya stumbled and then came to lean against a tree at the edge of the clearing. No, no. That had already happened. It hardly did him any good to relive it all.

He heard the roar again, and he grit his teeth and pressed one hand against his ear. He could hear it, plain as if it stood beside him and spoke the words, telling him to try again. To simply reach out and take what he needed. What it told him he needed. Hitsugaya hardly believed it held what he needed or wanted. The sand had choked him then, and had held him down and kept him bound then. He wouldn't go through that again.

_When did you quit fighting?_

"I never stopped." His voice was soft and rough, with an edge of desperation -- or maybe just despair. He didn't know exactly who he was talking to. Maybe it was the nebulous dragon that prodded at the edges of his consciousness. Maybe it was nothing.

_You never started._

Toushirou flinched at the condemnation. He had fought. He had given everything he had in that sand-choked landscape. Driving wind had become his enemy. Dry air choked him then. Hyourinmaru had not been enough. _He_ hadn't been enough. He'd fought. He'd fought beyond what he thought he'd been able to.

It still hadn't been enough.

_Nothing had worked. He stood, not quite defeated but he knew he was close. Hueco Mundo was a savage place and its denizens an eerie reflection of that. The wings of his Bankai were pulled close over his shoulders; he stood unsteadily, the tip of his sword trembling, and it was only force of will that kept his Bankai intact. He wouldn't last much longer. The Hollows behind him knew it. The man in front of him knew it. Ichimaru alighted on the ground, his step barely dislodging the grains of sand, and pulled his sword back._

Toushirou flinched, drawing away from the tree he leaned on and hand reaching for a sword that wasn't there. Behind him, there was a howl -- dark and ominous and nothing like the rumbling roar of the icy dragon he'd grown accustomed -- and tree branches cracked and fell. In that moment, past and present intermingled and Toushirou was again back in Hueco Mundo, awaiting an attack from behind while trying to ward off the killing blow that would come from the front.

In the trees, he saw Ichimaru's grin widen, his eyes opened to narrow slits. He felt his Bankai shatter all over again, the ice cracking like glass around him. Hyourinmaru howled.

_Hyourinmaru..._ Toushirou doubled over, his hand closing around a hilt that wasn't there.

The laughter from the ghosts in the past mingled with the howls of the Hollow behind him and, for Toushirou at that moment, nothing quite made sense. In that part of his mind that was rational, he knew he'd experienced this before. That there could be no threat from the past and, yet, his senses screamed at him. That damned dragon that kept goading him to fight roared a challenge and Toushirou didn't know who the challenge was issued to. The howl that came from behind was so close it deafened him.

His senses won out, instinct taking over at the last second and he dropped to the ground as a massive claw scored the earth beside him. In his mind's eye, a cloud of sand blinded him. In the present time, he could see the lumbering Hollow clearly. He rolled to his feet and braced himself with a hand on a nearby tree. His instincts warred within him; honed, trained, old instinct had him strategizing, figuring out how to take this Hollow down with a minimum of fuss. Newly-developed fear -- and it was simply fear that held him in its grasp, wasn't it? -- kept him still.

Fear. Just plain _fear_.

_You going to move?_

That voice again, deep and rumbling and demanding. Barely heard over the wind that drove and whipped the falling snow into a frenzied blizzard.

_You'll just stand there and let it have you?_

Toushirou could hear the anger lacing its voice and it held him still. He was... angry? He'd disappointed him. Toushirou swallowed hard, unable to pinpoint why the anger and disappointment directed at him hit him so, but unable to deny that it did.

_Move, goddamn you!_

It was so much a command that Toushirou had no choice but to follow. He'd been doing what they told him for a year now, always moving when they told, eating when they told, even speaking when they told. Simply following another order now was nothing new -- but there had never been that tinge of regret and despair and plain anger in the orders. Not quite seeing the Hollow that came after him, Toushirou leaped to the side.

Too late.

The Hollow's claw grated across his side and he was thrown aside. He hit the ground hard, clipping his chin and scraping his palms. Dimly, he heard it coming for him.

_You'll let it kill you_?

He couldn't figure out the point of fighting it. Why not?

_I never thought you were this much of a coward._

The words, sneering and angry, stung and Toushirou curled in on himself. So what if he was a coward? He wouldn't be burdening anyone else with it before long.

_Once, they were important to you._

Instead of anger, it was sorrow that laced the deep, rumbling voice. They? They didn't need him. Hinamori and Matsumoto; they were the only family he had left and they didn't need him. They'd come through the war stronger than ever. Hinamori had become strong, leading her division through the most uncertain times they'd ever faced. Matsumoto had stood by him and kept her promise to keep his subordinates safe. They survived. They _thrived_.

He was proud of them. It was enough.

Wasn't it?

This time, the Hollow's howl drowned the dragon's roar. He should have died in Hueco Mundo. He had no idea why Ichimaru had bothered keeping him alive. They had him then -- they had him and he'd never be alive again. This extra year had been nothing but purgatory. He'd just been walking dead, unable to function. Unable to recall what made him _him_.

It was time to go.  


* * *

_One more chapter, then an epilogue. This will get done someday, promise. Major edits might come soon, so if anyone has any crit or suggestions, I'll be happy to hear them. _

_~Kel  
_


	6. Chapter 6 and Epilogue

**_Summer's Heir_**  
Part 6 + epilogue  
by Kel  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Summary: Aizen, even after death, leaves a legacy.  
Note: Do critique, if you wish. One chapter left and an epilogue are still planned. My apologies for the wait, and thank you for still sticking with me.

* * *

He heard his name called, somewhere above the dragon's protest and the Hollow's triumphant roar. He reacted to it before he'd fully processed it; that was Hinamori's voice and it was so ingrained in him to react to her when she called that it was simply what he did. It saved him this time. Hitsugaya turned to find Hinamori and the Hollow's claw barely missed him, scoring the ground close enough to him that he felt the air rush along his spine.

There she was, her eyes wide and terrified, mouth agape. Her hand was on her sword, her knees bent, and she looked ready to attack. Matsumoto stood just behind her, already drawing her sword.

They shouldn't be here. Hitsugaya pushed to his hands and knees, driven by only instinct now. How often had he moved only to make sure one, or both, of these impulsive, addle-brained women stayed safe? The dragon was rumbling in his mind, somewhere between insistent and hopeful. His earlier resolve to simply lie there and end what wasn't a life anymore fell aside in that moment.

He could see it in her eyes and echoed in Matsumoto's horrified expression. They would grieve. The dragon in his mind latched onto that, insisting he look at them and really see their fear. Fear for him. Fear that he'd leave them.

Crouched on the ground, Hollow still behind him, Hitsugaya stilled. The Hollow's roar drove straight into his skull, and Hinamori's call was etched in sharp relief. Under his hand, it seemed he felt ever grain of dirt, every blade of grass sharp-edged against his palm The breeze blew Matsumoto's hair into her face and he believed he could see every strand.

Clarity.

It was everything he'd wanted since this thing had started. Since he'd been left floundering in a desert in Hueco Mundo, it was all he wished for and it assaulted every sense now. He heard, he felt, he saw, he _knew_. They'd survive without him. They'd move on, free of his pretend life. Should he live, they'd spend their days catering to his addle-brained needs.

He met Hinamori's eye. He'd hurt her once, for her good, when Aizen had betrayed them and set her against him. He'd hurt her again in the war, when he'd gone after her former captain. Both times had wrenched his heart and swayed his resolve; he could never stand to see her plead or cry. Even when they were growing up, he actively avoided seeing her cry – and he'd do whatever he could to not be the cause of her tears.

But he'd turned on her when her loyalty was twisted and her heart led her wrong. It had been what she'd needed then, and it was what she needed now.

He would do it again. For once, the dragon was silent and Hitsugaya could see him in his mind's eye, quietly resigned to this. Ruby red eyes, always burning in defiance and passion, closed and the great head bowed. Hitsugaya remembered now, far more clearly than he ever had. The dragon was his strength, his soul, his partner. They were never at odds.

They weren't now. Hyourinmaru settled in his mind, waiting. Matsumoto stepped forward, hand held out, as Hinamori's eyes widened. Hitsugaya never turned to face the Hollow.

It's claws drove into his back, spearing his side. It wrenched him aside, threw him to the dirt, and through dimming vision Hitsugaya saw it turn to meet Hinamori's charge. He watched through half-lidded eyes, barely registering Matsumoto circling around the Hollow toward him. Hinamori should have her bit of revenge; if she killed the Hollow that killed him, maybe it'd ease her mind. He should at least watch. A fitting goodbye, maybe.

It would come soon.

~*~*~*~*~

Hinamori knew he was about to do something monumentally stupid as soon as he looked at her. It was done in a split second, but she knew him well enough to know what that hardening of his gaze meant and what the tight lines around his eyes and mouth meant. He was going to do something stupid, it wasn't going to be pleasant, and he thought it was for the good of the people around him. Rangiku gasped behind her; she knew that look almost as well as Momo.

Momo was moving forward before the Hollow attacked him, silently urging him to do isomething/i. He'd attacked Kotetsu-fukutaichou with kidou. Surely he could use that now. He was capable. He still had all the power he'd ever had. He was still a captain in the Gotei 13. Her breath caught in her throat and it felt like her heart stopped. When she'd found Aizen pinned to that tower long years ago, she had thought that was the single most horrifying sight in her life.

She'd been wrong. So very wrong.

She stumbled to a stop, watching as the claws pierced Hitsugaya's side and watching as it tossed him aside. She watched as he laid there, unmoving and bleeding, half-lidded eyes glazed and still looking at her. Momo watched and she damned herself for it.

Should have moved sooner. Should have leaped into action as soon as she saw him. Why did she stand there, looking at him for those precious few moments? What the hell was she thinking? She'd killed him. She'd killed him by standing there and not moving and, goddamn it, she should have found a way to help him earlier, before it came to this.

Suddenly angry, Momo rushed forward. Goddamned man, and damn herself while she was at it. She was nearly silent when she attacked, her zanpakutou shoving away the thing's claws. Teeth grit against the sound of claws on steel, Momo gathered her reiatsu and ipushed/i the Hollow back. Eyes narrowed, she draw her hand back, red light gathering in her palm.

She'd send this one to ihell/i for what it had done. She half-turned to find Hitsugaya and faltered.

He was looking at her.

What she'd assumed were dead, glazed eyes were following her every move. Rangiku knelt next to him, her scarf pressed against the wounds in his side and her worried gaze met Momo's angry one. Momo's brow furrowed, and she kept one eye on the Hollow as it recovered from her earlier blow. Hitsugaya was watching her. His fingers were clutching at the grass and he was looking straight at her.

She couldn't begin to figure out why, but if he wasn't gone yet, then he wasn't going to be going anytime soon, not if she finished off this Hollow quickly and set to work on him. She was decent with simple healing spells. She could stop the bleeding and they could get him home. Things would be just the same as before. He'd have his good days and his bad and someday, someday far too soon, they'd forget all this.

Something had brought him back enough that he'd nearly sacrificed himself in her presence. Hitsugaya was nothing if not single-minded. Something had triggered that monumentally idiotic move of his, and she knew good and well it had something to do with her. He had days where he was frustrated beyond belief, knowing he wasn't able to function, and she knew he resented it. She knew he hated being a burden. Was that it? Maybe he thought he was too much a burden. Momo knew that look he'd given her: he thought he'd been doing this for her.

Well, if that's the way it was going to be, then Momo would be damned if she didn't seize this opportunity. Hitsugaya had always had a hard, thick skull. He needed lessons learned to be beaten into him, sometimes in some pretty drastic ways.

Her gaze drifted to the Hollow and she waited, letting the kidou in her hand fizzle away and die. She let her sword drop and, just before it leaped at her, she called his name sharply. She turned her attention away from the Hollow completely, watching him.

Watching him blink. Watching him shove Rangiku away.

Watching him _move_ and, even as the Hollow bore down on her, her heart unclenched and tears gathered in her eyes. She'd always marveled at how fast he was, even way back when, when he'd first come into the Gotei. He was still fast. Momo had always known he was one stubborn brat and far too determined for his own good. It had nearly killed him today.

He was still the same fast, stubborn brat of a kid who cared too much about others and not enough for himself. Momo swallowed hard when he interspersed himself between her and the Hollow, the blue light of a powerful soukatsui enveloping the Hollow. She wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him away when she heard Rangiku call on her zanpakutou to finish the job. They landed in a tangle of limbs and Momo quickly pulled away when she heard him grunt. The gentle green light of yudou enveloped her hand and she pressed it against the worst of the wounds in his side. With her other hand, she cupped his cheek and shook her head when he looked up at her.

"We still need you around," she said simply. Crazy or not, unable to function some days or not, he was still part of her family and it was about time he understood that.

She was sure she was going to cry when she saw that his eyes were clear.

Trust Hitsugaya Toushirou to have to learn it all the hard way.

* * *

_Epilogue: A few months later_

_You're slacking._

Hitsugaya blinked several times at the message on the phone, then shook his head. He took a couple steps forward and stopped, looking around to make sure Matsumoto actually wasn't anywhere close by. He wouldn't put it past her to watch his every move. (Not that he was slacking, of course.) She dogged his footsteps, just like what seemed half of Seireitei did. He didn't give it too much though, though; half the time he needed it.

He'd never admit it.

Matsumoto always worried if he didn't answer right away. She would end up just showing up to peer over his shoulder before too long if he didn't answer her. He sent her back a short message -- it simply read _shut up_ -- and tucked the phone into his sleeve. He'd ignore it now; he refused to get into some running argument via phone with her.

It would distract him anyway and that was the last thing he needed. He was supposed to be tracking down a Hollow. He couldn't do that and argue with Matsumoto. She, at least, seemed to understand that well enough, judging by the way she actually let him be when he was trying to focus on something. (Aside from the occasional poke and prod -- and sometimes message on the phone, if they were in the field -- of course. She was Matsumoto Rangiku and if Hitsugaya remembered one thing about her, it was that she was incapable of leaving him alone for any length of time. She certainly lived up to it. She probably wanted to make him feel comfortable. He wanted to strangle her half the time. Normal enough, he supposed.

He reached up and curled his hand around Hyourinmaru's hilt. His mind was wandering again; she knew better than to distract him. The dragon rumbled, firmly bringing him back on track.

He had a Hollow to take care of.

Carefully, he searched for it, refusing to bring out the phone to track it. He used to be good at sensing their presence; he did remember that, but he tried not to think about it too much. It frustrated him, to know he didn't have the control he used to have. That's when Hyourinmaru or Hinamori or Matsumoto -- hell, even Abarai sometimes -- reminded him that thinking about used-to-haves didn't help him relearn it all. He just needed to work on it. So he did, and he'd start by finding this damned Hollow without the help of the tracking devices in the phone.

He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Clear his mind. Find the darker presence. It came to him a bit more slowly then he would have liked, but when it did, it was strong. Whether that meant this was a more powerful Hollow than anyone had thought or that he was actually getting better at this, he didn't know. It was to the west, not far. He dropped his hand from his zanpakutou's hilt and took another deep breath.

He was ready for this. Absolutely. First solo mission after... everything. He could handle it. He made his way in that direction, quickly and stepping carefully. His shunpo hadn't suffered, but he was still almost too deliberate in his movements. He wasn't even captain, really, anymore. The position would be waiting for him, when he could take it.

Shouldn't be too long. He'd managed shikai a couple weeks ago. He and Hyourinmaru were speaking, working through things, again. Bankai would come soon.

That's just how it was.

Hitsugaya jumped from rooftop to rooftop, finally landing on the building closest to the Hollow's reiatsu signature. He didn't see it, but he could feel it. Its presence pressed in from all sides; it was close. He drew his sword.

The sliding metal became the only sound on the rooftop in that instant. For a moment, he wasn't there anymore: the flat roof became gray desert sand. The still air was cold and dry. In that moment, even Hyourinmaru was silent. A piercing _beep_ brought him back to reality and he half-jumped, blinking as he patted his sleeve for the phone.

Someone had either the best timing, or the worst. He wasn't sure. He dug the phone out, sword in one hand, and flipped it open. He stared at it, eyes widening, as he just realized what he was looking at.

His phone was telling him there was a Hollow here. With a snarl, he dropped it as he turned on his heel. Too close, too close. Far too close. Its dark presence was on him. Hitsugaya swung his sword as he turned, cursing under his breath. He was an idiot, letting himself get distracted. A damned idiot who was going to get his head bitten off if he didn't duck.

He missed on his first swing; he hadn't really expected to hit anything, though. The Hollow -- a scorpion-like thing with a pair of fangs longer than he was tall -- skittered to the side, deftly avoiding Hitsugaya's swing. Hitsugaya danced backward as the Hollow regrouped and attacked again. One of its clawed hands swung at him and he blocked it, sliding backward a few steps. Stupid, stupid thing, checking on the phone just then. He hadn't had a chance to set himself and actually attack.

Hitsugaya thought he actually had it as he pushed the claw away. He went to follow through, to attack while the thing was still reeling.

He should have made sure it was actually reeling first.

Something caught him in mid-air and sent him tumbling to the rooftop. He landed hard, breath driven out of him, then rolled to a stop, patting at the rooftop for Hyourinmaru's hilt. His hand had just wrapped around it when the Hollow roared and lunged toward him. He rolled, trying to keep the sword between him and the Hollow, and came up to his feet with just enough time to see where the damned thing was.

Hard to miss, since those fangs were bearing down on him.

"_Soten ni zase_." This should worked; he couldn't help the moment of doubt, but the dragon rumbled in anticipation. "Hyourinmaru!" He swung the sword in a narrow arc and ice erupted from the blade.

The Hollow didn't stand a chance. Hitsugaya didn't even hear its dying scream in the crashing ice. Hitsugaya simply stood there for a moment, sword held tightly. This was nothing new; he should be able to walk away without having sudden flashbacks of other battles. The neglected phone started beeping insistently, pulling him from his thoughts before he could drift too far away.

Oh. Matsumoto or Hinamori. They would have felt Hyourinmaru. He stepped toward it, wincing as he sheathed his sword. _Now_ his midsection hurt, where the thing's tail had slammed into him; damned adrenaline ebbing away. He ended up just forgetting to crouch for the phone. Better to kneel carefully. He answered the phone with a breathless grunt.

"Are you all right?" Hinamori's voice was carefully neutral. She knew how much he hated being fretted over.

"Hollow's down," he responded.

"Good to hear," she chirped. "I'll be there in a minute."

He grunted and hung up the phone. Of course she would. She had to check on him; she always did. He found he didn't mind it so much. When he drifted, he sometimes needed someone to bring him back. Wasn't sure he was really drifting this time, but... Well, this was Hinamori and she would want to be here after he did not mess up his first solo mission in a very long time.

He tucked the phone back into his pocket and climbed to his feet, hand pressed against his side. Maybe next time he'd remember to watch out for the tail. Or maybe even ignore his phone when a Hollow was breathing down his neck. Hinamori's reiatsu flickered on the edge of his perception and he focused his attention on her.

He wouldn't drift. Not this time.

He was getting better at this.

* * *

_And... the end. Save for edits, which means this might get reposted later on with longer (and probably fewer) chapters, just because I really think it would flow better that way. Someday, perhaps. Until then, I hope you've enjoyed._

_~Kel  
_


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